Gravitation
by HaneGaNai
Summary: He was losing himself little by little with every passing moment. With every thought, dream, every fight, death or wound. He needed gravitation. Something. Someone.


**Title**: Gravitation

**Words**: 1181

**Warnings**: _shounen-ai_, emoing

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Bleach or any of the characters.

**Betaed by King Frea (FreakinMi)**

**A/N**: I was suffering a minor writers-block when this came to me and demanded not-so-nicely to be put down into words. Took surprisingly short and left me up only till 2 a.m. Since it lacks the fluff-factor it is posted as a separate fic and won't be a part of the _Cuddling time_ one-shots. I thought I'd be able to keep my mind away from angst for a while longer, but I failed yet again. Forgive me. And enjoy ^_^'

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He needed gravitation.

Desperately.

He was losing himself little by little with every passing day.

With every fight – every time he put on his hollow mask in order to win, to protect. As long as he accomplished his goals he maintained his power as the King. But even so, fighting his Hollow into submission had him struggling every time. Had him try harder and harder as it became more difficult to hold on to himself. And Inner Demon grew in strength using his weaknesses against him.

There were always two fights for him to win. Every strong opponent meant facing his Hollow and trying to wipe that wicked smirk off of his pale face. And he was losing control – that sick bastard ran rampant in his body a few seconds longer now.

And Ichigo knew exactly why this was happening – he lacked motivation.

The upcoming battle with Aizen and the need to protect his family and friends would seem enough to motivate for most people, but it wasn't enough for him. Not anymore. He grew tired of it all, of throwing himself into fights without thinking, of winning and losing, of people getting hurt, of people dying. School, beating up Hollows, training, being constantly on high-alert – it wore him off. He needed something to hold on to. To give him hope. To keep him going. Something that would take his thoughts off of the playing-God bastard and his fucked up army. Something that would bring in a wave of fresh air. That would have him breathing again and actually wanting to breathe.

Someone.

He wasn't looking for love. Or maybe he was, but not for that innocent, full-blush thing with pink clouds and hearts floating in the background. He wanted something solid and steady with a bit of madness. Something he wouldn't have to worry about much.

He needed someone who could take care of himself, who would accept him the scowling way he was, who would welcome him with all his virtues and flaws, with whom he could be himself. Someone who would understand, who knew he didn't need to be protected, who would understand his strength and things that drove him. Someone to occupy all his thoughts, dominate his world taking over the main role in his dreams. Who would help him keep his cool and come victorious out of his encounters with his Inner Self. Whose presence would help him see reason to actually keep on winning – and coming back.

He needed gravitation.

And he wanted that gravitation to be Urahara Kisuke.

Maybe not a wise choice considering the way the perverted shopkeeper kept involving him in all sorts of trouble and would probably be his downfall in the end. But did it really matter? _Geta-boushi_ was who he wanted, who he needed. And who fulfilled all the aforementioned conditions.

Thoughts of Urahara already took over every single moment of his life and he stopped fighting them a long time ago.

But thoughts alone weren't enough anymore. Just dreaming of the blonde wouldn't suffice much longer. For a long while now he used the image of the perverted shopkeeper to keep himself alive, to hold back his Inner Hollow whenever the bastard felt like taking over (even if he was teased because of it).

He felt desperate. So desperate it made him sick.

He wanted to puke his heart out whenever it started beating like mad at the very sight of Urahara. He was struggling with his thoughts trying to decide whether he should stake all on one card and confess. He hated himself for his indecisiveness.

It wasn't like him to hold back. He's Kurosaki Ichigo – the boy who didn't think twice about breaking into Soul Society to rescue a woman he barely knew. He always acted on instinct alone, not sparing a thought to whatever it was he set his mind on. He was a man of action, 'hesitation' being a word that never existed in his personal dictionary.

Up until now.

~*~

Ichigo was watching Urahara from the corner of his eyes as the blonde prepared tea for the both of them. They were alone at the Shouten for once – Tessai and the kids out shopping, Renji training with Chad in the basement.

Both, the teen and the ex-captain, were acting out of character lost in thought. None of them seemed to feel inclined to shatter the silence that was bestowed upon them a few minutes after the redhead entered the shop and Kisuke offered him tea. There was no taunting, no perverted comments, scowling.

Ichigo didn't think much of the unusual lack of teasing from the blonde too set on his plan to finally reveal his feelings. He was once again running through 'the Confession' in his head when Urahara startled him putting a steaming cup in front of him on the low table.

_Now or never._

His decision made Ichigo's hand shoot out as the blonde's own was retreating and kept him in place as he opened his mouth ready for his little speech.

But when brown eyes met surprised grey partially hidden under the rim of the striped hat all words were forgotten, his mouth left agape. They stayed like that for a minute or two – or eternity – Urahara half-bent over the table staring at the redhead and waiting for whatever it was the teen wanted to say and Ichigo sitting Indian-style on the pillow, his hand still holding the blonde's wrist.

And then the world started moving again.

He acted. He didn't even think about what he was doing until it was already too late. What use was worrying and thinking things over and over again anyway? If he spent too much time dwelling on the problem it might be too late. It's not like him to hold back.

"Ah, screw it." And he rose from his seat pulling Urahara closer at the same time and their lips met.

The kiss was tentative yet firm, both naïve and sensual. A simple touching of lips – it set him on fire. It had Ichigo dazed and unwilling to stop, but he had to let go when the need for air became too strong. He was afraid to meet Urahara's eyes ready for a fist to come flying his way, but nothing happened. When he finally looked up at the blonde his heart almost tripped in its rapid beating – Kisuke was smiling at him, licking his lips as if to savor Ichigo's taste.

"Finally." The shopkeeper murmured and dove in for another kiss. And another. Just to leave the teen panting and greedy for more.

Confessing could come later. Right now, the only thing he wanted was for the blonde to devour him whole. He wanted that tongue to ravish his mouth, to learn how Urahara tasted, to feel those lips on his again – that sweet weight something he could count on to keep him alive from now on. He wanted Urahara to flood his senses and keep a firm grip on him, holding him in place.

He needed him to be his gravitation.


End file.
